Designs on You
by SurelyForth
Summary: An ongoing collection of soapy, Anders related prompt fills for the BSN site. "Advice for the King", "Bold", "The Zombie Chicken and Other Assorted Indignities", "Special".
1. Advice For the King

**Note from SF: **Prompt fill for the Anders thread on the BSN. This week it's The First..., courtesy of Miri1984, who rocks.

BioWare owns these guys, I just like to embarass them sometimes. Well, except for Ron F. Mahariel. That guy is unflappable.

* * *

"So you're telling me that the King of Ferelden is a…" Anders searched the ceiling for a word that was just not coming to mind so _ridiculous_ was the situation. "He's a _virgin_? Is he _five_?"

"I _am_ right here, you know," Alistair scowled at the mage. "Ron, did you really have to invite _him_ to this? Oghren was bad enough. Well, before he passed out."

Anders lolled his head to look at his commander and was profoundly unsurprised to see that he wore his usual expression of bemused detachment.

"I couldn't invite everyone _but_ him," Ron shrugged and tugged thoughtfully at a loose strand of black hair. "And, to be fair to Anders, _you're_ the one who keeps asking for advice on how to handle...things."

Alistair sank back against the plush settee, his scowl intensifying and his cheeks turning a most delightful shade of pink. Anders couldn't help but smile at his king's misfortune, because it was the sort of misfortune that wasn't misfortune _at all_.

"Oh, listen to you! 'I'm a king and my beautiful betrothed wants to do all sorts of depraved things to me'," Anders stretched languidly and sat up, one arm flopping across Alistair's shoulders. He ignored the pointed look that clearly said _what do you mean, with the _touching_?_ "This is what you need to do: take her to a semi-secluded location, get naked, mostly naked, or at least _exposed_, find something to grab onto and just _go_ for it. And by _it_ I mean..."

"Anders," Ron had one eyebrow raised in as close to disapproval as the elf came. "You are about to give Alistair a _coronary_."

Alistair did seem to have gone a bit pale at the mention of _naked_ and _exposed_.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Anders pulled his arm away like he might catch something. "You're really that _repressed_? I thought being a king was all busty courtesans and naughty maids and _orgies_ after tea."

"I was raised in the _Chantry_," Alistair was back to furious blushing. "I was going to be a _templar_...they think it unwise to teach us how to..._woo_ a woman only to take away the option the moment we take our vows."

"And after you left you never once thought to, you know, _go for it_? I can think of about ten ways _you _could get it with no effort, and I'm incredibly _drunk_. Actually, being drunk might account for _five_ of those..."

"I just want it to be better than..." Alistair's hands went out and he was making _the_ most _awkward_ grabby gestures with his fingers.

Anders didn't even know...his eyes met Ron's and he was glad to see _this_ had gotten a concerned reaction, at least.

"I'm blaming _you_ for his continued inexperience," Anders tilted his head, wondering why _he_ should blame anyone at all. "Or maybe Lady Cousland should blame you for the fact that she's marrying a man who thinks he should approach her chest like it's a giant _abacus_."

"Ron's first time wasn't until the Blight," Alistair took a moment away from staring at his hands in horror to point this out. "Although I always imagined it went something like 'Shut up, elf, and get in my tent' followed by 10 minutes of _black_."

"So I told you?" Ron was smiling when said this. "And, actually, she told me that her tent was cold."

"Really? And you _fell_ for that?" Alistair shuddered. "You are lucky to be alive."

From what Anders had heard of his commander's former lover, Ron was just _lucky_.

"That's your problem, your majesty," it took Anders a moment to find the edge of the settee so he could command a little more attention. "You're _supposed_ to fall for it. When you're eating dinner and Lady Cousland grabs your knee..."

"Thigh. _Upper_ thigh. Actually, I don't think the part of the leg she was going for qualifies as _leg_ anymore. But continue."

"You're supposed to acknowledge it, and _encourage_ it. Stop thinking about what Sister Coldfish told you about touching when you were eleven, and think about the _hand_ and where it's going and where it _wants_ to go."

"And..._let_ it?" The king's voice was a squeak, his knees discreetly shifting.

"You mean let her grope you right there at the table?" Anders snorted. "I think that beardy man who is always buzzing around you might find it inappropriate, but you _are_ the king. So sure! But really, you just need to stop worrying about your hands, and being _bad_ at it, because that _will_ make you bad at it. And outside of poking her eye out or setting her hair on fire, it's all very _foolproof_."

"And if she's half as into you as she _seems_ to be, chances are she'll forgive you if you're a little awkward...or slobbery."

"I hadn't thought about _slobber_," Alistair sank even further onto the settee. "Maybe I should just resign myself to the fact that my wife is going to have a constant stream of lovers because I _drooled_ on her."

"Or maybe you can stop being self-defeating and ask Anders about _his_ first time," Ron smirked triumphantly, happy to be able to deflect things back onto the mage. Anders glared at him. "Hey,_ you're _the one who mentioned setting someone on fire."

"Not _someone_," Anders leaned back, mimicking Alistair's formerly forlorn posture. Of course, now the king was looking positively gleeful. "It was just her hair. Not...anything else. What? I was still an apprentice, she was already a mage and had a whole bag of tricks I'd never even _dreamt_ of. Very intense_ things_ happened and my fingertips may have caught on fire. A lot. While all _tangled_ up in her hair."

"See, Alistair? Drool can just be wiped away, at least there's no chance for permanent damage," Ron looked at Anders, the expression in his grey eyes one of gratitude because Alistair appeared _immensely_ relieved. "And I can't see your future wife holding out on you for...how long was it before you could convince another woman in the tower to let you _touch_ them?"

Anders _seriously _disliked his commander sometimes. Him and his stupid _memory_.

"I refuse to answer that," Anders glowered and tried not to think about those four years when he got more when he _escaped_ than he did _in_ the tower. "And I expect a handsome gift from our future queen if you _do _ever manage to seal the deal."

"Oh, of course. With a note that reads 'And I especially appreciate that he lit _candles _to set the mood, and not me'," Alistair and Ron both chuckled over this for far too long.

Anders flung himself back on the settee and decided then that, king and commander or no, he felt perfectly justified in hating them _both_.


	2. Bold

**Note from SurelyForth:** This entry had to utilize the phrase: "He certainly hadn't expected that to happen."

Thank you to Jenncgf for the awesome prompt!

* * *

He certainly hadn't expected _that_ to happen.

Or maybe he had…after all, he'd went to the door and locked it, knowing full well that they were alone and _alone behind a locked door_ always ended in _that_ happening.

Always_. Two nights together in an inn hardly qualified as _always_. Of course, anything could happen once and it would, technically, be _always_._

Anders walked down the hallway, his hand sliding discretely down the front of his robes to make certain they'd gotten everything put back where it was supposed to go. The chances of him accidentally flashing someone were _slim_, and the chances of either his commander or his king noticing that things were amiss were even _slimmer_.

Still, it gave him something to do with his _hands_, which were feeling a bit empty and listless after fifteen minutes of…_productivity_.

King Alistair and Warden-Commander Ron Mahariel were in Alistair's office, the king sitting behind a desk that was bigger than Anders' bed back at the Vigil and reclining in a chair that was probably more _comfortable_.

Ron was perched on the corner of the desk, his feet swinging a few inches above the burgundy and gold wool rug that covered most of the stone floor.

Anders had no idea why he noticed the _rug_, except for the fact that he want to avoid looking at _anyone_ because he was pretty certain that his face would give him away, being as he was ridiculously _happy_ and a _little_ worried.

Not that he'd known _before_, of course. _Before_ she'd just been a smartass woman in a green dress, tucked into her own corner of the Norrest Common House and observing the other people in the tavern while they drank and talked and flirted.

There was a pair of pretty girls watching Anders from a table across the room, a blonde and a redhead, and he was starting to get the sense that they might be interested in him. Or at least one was, from the giggling and the pointing that they must not have known he could see and hear.

Not that he minded, to be honest. Subtlety in these matters was overrated. He liked bold women because they were less likely to slap him or leave him in a bind when he inevitably was too bold _himself_.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, were I you."

The woman from the corner was now at his elbow and the barkeep made eye contact with her but didn't ask for an order.

"Friends of yours?" He studied her openly, which he'd already done when he first walked in. She was lovely- tall, long-limbed and _incredibly_ pale. Dark hair hung loose around her shoulders and her eyes were clear green, wide and shining with mirth.

"They were last _night_. Bento, can I get another whiskey? And not so much water this time. I want to get _drunk_, not tend my _flowerboxes_," she tapped her fingers against the wooden bar for a moment, then turned back to Anders. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You were with them last night?" Anders didn't know which part of him had reacted to this _faster_.

Bento handed her a wooden cup, his brow drawn in a scowl.

"You break me, kid. If I didn't know you were generous, I would not have done it," he snapped large fingers in Anders' face. "Don't think you can do the same."

"I was indeed with them last night," she took a long sip from her cup and rolled her eyes. "Bento, a _child_ wouldn't be able to taste the whiskey in this. Whatever. I'll just steal the good stuff next time your back is turned. You'll be my lookout, won't you?"

Anders caught himself smiling when she glanced over again, a small grin turning her lips up in response before she ambled back to her seat, her hips swaying invitingly as she left.

It was not long before the other women accosted him, one on each side and both giggling in his ears as they playfully bickered over which one of them he'd like better, and maybe they should let him give them both a try and decide for himself.

_Yes, I _love_ deciding for myself._

He'd offered no resistance as they pulled him upstairs, dropping his hand once they got to the rooms. Dropping his hand and turning onto _each other_, the blonde kissing the redhead playfully on the cheek, Redhead retaliating with a smart smack of her friend's bottom.

"I confess, this may take me all night," Anders smirked. "And possibly even end in a _draw_."

They were kissing each other now, Blondie groping at their door handle.

"Can you wait out here for a few moments?" Redhead surfaced long enough to make eye contact with Anders. "Want to make sure we're in order before we mess things up again."

Anders nodded. He would have agreed to _anything_.

The women had no sooner disappeared than he felt a small tug on his robes.

"You're going to regret it," the woman in the green dress was standing just behind him in the hallway, her fingers on the door next to her, tracing an invisible design on the smooth surface.

"Have you _seen_ them? I think the only thing I'm going to regret is being just one _man_," Anders allowed his eyes to wander down her long neck, to the bodice of her gown. Had it been so low downstairs? He'd not remembered _cleavage_.

She bent at her knees a little, so that his gaze was back on her face.

"Oh, I'm sure one of you is more than enough," she leaned against the door, a subtle arch to her back throwing certain things into relief, and smiled dreamily. "Which is a waste, to be honest."

"Are you implying that you would put me to better use?" He felt his eyebrow pop up and his lip curve into a flirtatious smirk. He did love a _bold_ woman.

"I'm not implying anything; I'm _saying _that I would put you to better use," she stood upright, her own grin gone more than a little wicked. "Despite Bento's best efforts, I am _drunk_ and you are, by far, the most interesting man to pass through here in _days_. So even if you _do_ choose them, you're going to get a second chance tomorrow night."

"What makes you think I'm going to be back tomorrow night? I'm just here to get away," he found himself inching towards her. "I'm staying with... a friend. Of a friend. Of sorts."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, teeth on her lower lip and her arms moving to fold across her stomach.

"One of two things is going to happen. Either you go with _them_ and find out I was right, _or_ you come with me right now," one hand darted out and caught his hip, her fingers curling around his belt. "Either way, you'll be back."

_Bold._

Even bolder was her mouth against his, sudden and hot. For one long moment, he was caught completely off guard before his eyes fell closed and he pushed back against her, the pressure of her lips nothing compared to the pressure in other places, pushing from within him towards _her_.

It wasn't one _big_ decision, but a series of

"Do you..?"

"Maker, _yes_."

that led from hallway to her room to undressing between kisses and moans and her tongue was _delightful_ as they fell back against the door, unable to finish the distance to the bed because she was drunk and bold and she'd taken over _things_ and, thus, what she wanted she _received_.

"Oh," Anders thought of Ron, which was a _little_ weird, but mostly he saw his commander disapproving. _Full disclosure, Anders. No more incidents_. He cleared his throat indicating that he needed her to, Maker forbid, _stop_ for a second. "Just so you know, I'm a mage. I promise I won't...you know. _Mage_ you. It's not _contagious_."

She was looking up at him, her green, green eyes gazing through long, dark lashes and then she smiled, well beyond any previous smile. This was wicked, and amused, and _delighted_.

"Will you, though?" She kissed him in a place where he'd not been kissed very often, and his stomach shivered at the brush of her lips. "You know, _mage_ me. I think I'd like it."

And she did. Often and _loudly_.

And she was _right_.

The next night they dispensed with the bar stuff and he was in her room before dinner, having left the palace under the pretense of needing a new _staff_. He was _supposed_ to be doing research in the palace library, looking for references on the Architect. But _she_ was much more fun.

"Who _are_ you?" It was well after midnight and they were strewn across the foot of the bed, catching their breath. Well, _he_ was catching his breath. She was nipping at his ear. "You're very suspicious, you know. Hiding out here, seducing innocent _mages_."

"Do you want the truth?" She rested her check against his shoulder and waited for him to nod. "I _am_ hiding. I agreed to marry a man I hardly know, and I think he hates me. I don't want to be married at _all_, let alone to someone who _hates_ me because it's hard to get from hate to here...," her fingernails raked lightly across his lower stomach. "I don't need true love or anything, but I don't want to be a _misery_ for the rest of my life."

"So this is a final fling? One last meal before the noose?" His voice was purposefully light, although he didn't necessarily like the way the words _tasted_.

"Something like that," she frowned. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

He laughed and thought of the past several hours, of the night before.

"Some might say so. It just makes me wish I was a different _man_."

"Don't you mean two different men? One to settle down and one to run around bedding strange girls who ambush you in taverns?"

"Why stop _there_? I need seven of me at the _least_," he paused and pretended to do calculations in his head. "...how many taverns are there in Ferelden, anyhow?"

They'd carried on like that for awhile, teasing and giggling and settling against each other one last time before they slept.

She was gone when he awoke, and he was sent back to the Vigil, Ron needing him to fetch some documents from Varel and the entirety of _Oghren_.

Once again in Denerim, he entertained the notion of checking back at the inn, but he figured there was a good reason why she'd snuck out in the night and not given her name.

A good reason that was actually an _excellent_ reason as he finally made it to the library after a night of reassuring his king that he needed to just get over his virgin nerves and nail his damned betrothed already.

"I didn't realize there was a bar in here," Anders was proud of that one, even though seeing her curled up on one of the overstuffed settees was a small heart attack. "So _you're_ the maneater that has our king freaking right out about how he's _ever_ going to satisfy a woman. Had I known _that_, I could have offered him some very _specific_ advice last evening."

"So you told him to break off our betrothal instead?" The question was asked idly, but there was no flicker of dishonesty or disappointment. Anders realized he was still at the door, and he leaned back and clicked the lock into place. From this vantage point, he could see they had the entire place to themselves.

"No, I told him to stop worrying about it and just fuck you senseless, already."

She had closed the distance between them and was standing only a few inches away from him, her eyes searching his face.

"Oh. Well I don't think that's what he took from it," she offered a wry smile. "Although...that is some _very_ sound advice."

"Would it seem arrogant if I followed it myself?" His hands were already at her waist. "This isn't _treason_, is it?"

It took her fifteen minutes to say _no_, and he had to commend himself for being an _excellent_ advisor.

Now to just keep from bragging about it to his king and his commander. He'd discovered years ago that the more unexpectedly awesome _he_ found something, the more trouble it caused him in the end.

And _this_ had _potential_.


	3. The Zombie Chicken

**Note from SurelyForth:** Prompt fill! Anders is in charge of the Vigil. Prompt courtesy of Avilia.

* * *

"What do you mean _and you can't find the Commander_?" Anders raised his eyebrow at Seneschal Varel. Normally the older man had few words for the mage. Not that he avoided him, of course. He just had more important administrative things to tend to, while Anders…didn't. "That sounds vaguely threatening."

Varel nodded his agreement, his mask of reluctance never slipping.

"If these weren't extenuating circumstances, with the Arl being gone, Garavel training, and Oghren and Nathaniel visiting Gwaren, I would never approach you with this. But, in light of their absences, you _are_ the senior Warden and the Vigil needs someone available to handle sundry crises as they arise."

"Sundry crises?" Anders hated the sound of that. "Are you certain that you _have_ to be at the birth of your grandchild? Surely there will be another one in a few years and you wouldn't want the surprise for _that_ one ruined and…"

Varel was glaring.

"Fine, _fine_. Just point me towards a _sundry_ crisis and I'll _handle_," he punctuated this with a sigh. He'd hoped for a day spent reading and, possibly, luxuriating in a hot bath. He'd even arranged for usage of the master bath so he could have some privacy. Ron had been running him all over the place these past few weeks and, with the exception of one handful of a bright spot, this Warden gig was seeming like an awful lot of work considering the utter lack of darkspawn.

"I appreciate your willingness, Anders," Varel's eyes indicated that he was well aware of how very far he was pushing the definition of the word _willingness_. "My suggestion would be to just be available for most of the morning. Sit in the Main Hall and…you'll be found."

And found he was. Not twenty minutes after Varel departed, his brow furrowed as he glanced back at the keep _one more time_ (clearly concerned that it might not be standing when he returned), Anders was accosted by Verity, the lead cook who dragged him bodily away from the cozy brazier and towards _work_.

It began with a chicken that refused to stay dead. It's head was _clearly_ gone, but its body seemed ever committed to tearing around the kitchen, feet pattering against the stone hearth as it flapped and careened like a macabre little puppet encouraged on by shrieks of terror and one young scullion who kept chanting "Go henny, go!" as if this was a _race_ and he had coin riding on the outcome.

For a few long moments, Anders just observed the chaos as grown women flailed and feathers flew. Finally, after it became abundantly clear that not a one of them possessed more sense than a damn decapitated _chicken_, he hit it with an ice spell, stopping it dead so that it fell to the floor with an audible thud that silenced the room as effectively as anything ever could.

"Cool!" That was the scullion.

"Thank you for that, ser mage," Verity hurried forward to collect the chicken, mumbling under her breath as she went. "I hope that he didn't put a _curse_ on it…"

_Are you _kidding_ me?_ Anders hand went out automatically and he was very near to casting a reanimation spell when the chicken, freed once again from the bounds of death, sprang out of Verity's grasp and straight into his chest, splattering blood and feathers across his robes and almost giving him a small heart attack.

It was the chicken's last hurrah. No amount of _anything_ could revive it once it had fallen victim to Anders' incendiary retaliation, the stench of burnt feathers following him as he stalked out of the kitchen, picking feathers off of his chest and swearing so vehemently under his breath that even _Oghren_ would blush if he could hear him.

"Uh, hello?" Anders whipped around and very nearly ran away once his eyes had processed the presence of a rather gelatinous fellow, pink and as bald as a nug, wearing the most ill-fitting set of Chantry robes that Anders had ever had the displeasure of seeing. "Am I in the right place?"

_No, you are absolutely not in the right place. The right place is the bottom of the well, which is in the yard and not _here_ talking to _me_._

"That depends," Anders struggled to keep his voice neutral. "What's the right place to _you_?"

"Well, see," he was nervous, his voice high, and he couldn't take his eyes off the blood and feathers on the front of Anders robes.

_Maker, he probably thinks I was just participating in some sort of magic cult ritual sacrifice _thing_._

"I was coming to pick up some, hrm, monies for Our Lady from a…Woolsey? _Andisthisabadtime?_ I can go someplace else and, er, wait. Please?"

Anders fought the urge for a full body eye roll and gestured for the priest _or whatever he was_ to follow him to Woolsey's office.

"You're on your own from here on out," Anders nodded towards the door. Zombie chickens and Chantry representatives he could handle but Woolsey was an entirely different animal.

He left the man staring at Woolsey's office and ambled back towards the infirmary, only to get caught by Brady, the Vigil marshal who needed him to supervise an inspection of the stables, which meant horse manure, horse smells, and hearing Farrier Frank give him lip about his daughter Mona _and she never would have married that Padrich fellow had you not broken her heart, you shameless bastard._

After the stables it was _Dworkin_ trying to get approval for a shipment of lyrium sand that personally excited Anders but would probably mean the end of the Vigil as the knew it and he wasn't quite willing to have a hand in _that_.

Then it was a steady stream of annoyances and nothing terribly taxing…

"I think someone raided the wine racks, Ser. There are four bottles of our best red missing."

"I'll put out an alert right away. I'm certain that, come tomorrow morning, those four bottles will have magically reappeared and be ready to serve to the next dignitary that makes his way up here."

"Hey, ya. So that lastest batch of wax we brought down from Highever? It's real bad. Smokes like you wouldn't believe and smells worse than…"

"Shit? Dried chicken blood? Why not melt down the leftover wax from the last order and mix with the new, see if that doesn't help mitigate the smoking and the smell. Meanwhile, I'll take down a _note_ and we'll try to get a refund or price break on the next order. And yes, I'll request that it be sent down here _sooner_."

"Can't say we didn't see this coming, but there's a hole in the roof of the secondary grain store. Ya, if it rains tonight, and this is Ferelden so it's gonna rain tonight, that grain is worthless. Carpenter can't get to repairing until tomorrow, on account of the thing with the mill, so something's gotta be done."

"Of course," Anders covered his eyes and tried not to grind his teeth _too_ loudly. "Assuming there's room in the main store, we can just transfer it into there. Which will, of course, take manpower that I'll need to scrounge up."

"Sure."

"Sure," Anders mimicked the man's shrug and went around the keep recruiting only to end up doing much of the work himself. It was _exhausting_, but at least it kept him unavailable for

"Herren! I am only doing what was asked of me by the _Commander_. This is much more important that the captain getting _another_ custom hauberk made."

_Dammit_. Anders tried to sneak by the blacksmith and his partner, only to be spotted by Herren less than three steps outside of the main gate.

"Anders! Ser mage, _please_ come here and talk sense to Wade," Herren's face was as flushed as ever and he was pointing jabbily at the Warden's smith, who sat hunched over his workbench, tooling.

"Sense? SENSE! As if you would know sense if it smacked you on its face, Herren. All you know is how much gold you have in the morning and how much more you have in the evening. Sense is not gold, sense is artistry and craft," Wade frowned. "Besides, this is my chance to shine."

"You see, Anders, Wade has been commissioned to craft ceremonial armor for all the Wardens, in anticipation of the royal wedding. We are being paid _handsomely_ for the honor, but it leaves him little time for _other_ orders, which we _need_ in order to make a _living_," Herren was looking at Anders, but his words were pointed towards the smith, who responded with an perfectly executed eye roll before continuing with his task.

"Well, what is he working on now?" Anders couldn't quite make it out, but it didn't seem like any armor that _he'd_ seen before.

"Tell the man, Wade. Show him your precious project that has lost us ten sovereigns this week _alone_."

"Well, the Commander wanted to surprise the king with something exceptional and I decided that…," he held up the leather he'd been tooling and it was obviously a corset, exquisitely detailed and _incredibly_ impractical for any venue that didn't include thick walls, heavy drapes and a bed.

"Quite lovely. However, I think you've gotten the wrong idea about the king. He's big everywhere but where you've actually given him…room."

Wade's posture dropped and he let out the most annoyed sound Anders had ever heard in his entire life, which was quite the feat.

"No, you foolish man. It's for his betrothed! I thought he might appreciate seeing his new bride in something beautiful made just for her, so I got her measurements from her dressmaker and _voila_!" He held it aloft again and Anders didn't need to hear another word because _yes_. And there was a tiny flare of jealousy that he didn't quite know what to do with, but mostly he was _imagining _and counting out ten sovereigns from his coin purse.

"This should help offset your losses so Wade can finish, my part to cover the gift," he smirked at Wade, hoping that he sounded like he meant what he was about to say. "After all, a happy king is a good king. And _that_, on the right woman, would be enough to make any man _happy_."

Anders left them, now squabbling over how Wade had told Herren just that and _maybe you should trust me every once in a while. Maybe?_ and was never so happy to see Garavel in his entire life when he found the man waiting, arms crossed over his chest, in the main hall.

"This is your gig, now," Anders indicated his ruined robes and boots. "_I'm_ grabbing a book and taking a hot _bath_."

"Is there anything I should kn-"

"Nope!"

He made it up to his room, Pounce greeting him with an irritated mewf and the _first_ thing that was wrong was his door hadn't been locked and the _second_ thing was that his _books_ were missing.

_All of them._

"Andraste's knicker-weasels, who would steal a man's _library_?"

The answer was scrawled on a scrap of vellum on Anders' desk.

_Anders-  
I didn't think you'd mind if we borrowed some of your reading materials, since you seemed to be out all day. We didn't know exactly what we wanted, so we just took the lot.  
__Ron  
__(Sigrun says that if you're mad, just wait until you see how happy we are tomorrow at breakfast. That __should__ make you feel better!)_

Better_ is not what I'll be feeling the next time I see them_, he scowled as the note turned to flame at his fingertips. _Elficidal, _maybe_._

With an exhausted sigh, he gathered his soap, towel and a clean set of robes.

The bath, at least, was how he needed it to be: the room empty and the water already brought up and waiting for his hands to warm it.

He slid in, luxuriating at last as he replaced the absent prose of the filthiest literary minds in Orlais with visions of an exquisite and impractical leather corset on the absolute right woman, counting it a victory that he was able to finish his night out in peace, and without a single complaint or zombie chicken to distract him.


	4. Special

**Note from SurelyForth: **This week's prompt, courtesy of me, was hair.

* * *

"_I _don't know why Ron keeps sending me," Anders gave a careless shrug and threw himself down on the couch in King Alistair's office. "I guess, since he plans on staying in Denerim for a few months after the wedding, he wants to get as much taken care of at the Vigil as he can."

_The wedding._ It wasn't supposed to be _on_ anymore. According to Ron, he was getting letters every day from his friend the fretful king and every day it was something _else_.

_"Do you remember me telling you about that pirate that I met in the Pearl? Apparently Lady Cousland knows her, too. It's off."_

_"Eamon refuses to uninvite 300 guests, some of whom are already on their way from the Free Marches and Orlais. It's back on."_

_"Oh, it's off again. He tried to kiss her and he missed her mouth. There's more to it than that, but it's pretty much the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read."_

_"I don't know, Anders. Last I heard it was on? I still need you to take these papers to him and there's a package at the Wonders of Thedas. It's a special order item that you'll have to pick up. You might as well pack enough to last through the wedding. Assuming there _is_a wedding and we don't end up having to chase a runaway groom across the Amaranthine Ocean. I can't imagine Eamon would be pleased with that."_

"The wedding," Alistair buried his face in his hands, cheeks turning pink. Anders knew the man didn't care much for him, and he knew that he had _every_ reason to not care for him. Things must be _excruciating_ if Alistair was willing to let himself open up to _the mage_. "It almost makes me wish I'd taken my vows after all."

"That sounds like a pleasant situation," Anders rolled his eyes at the _dramatics_. "I know I'd like a monarch with a debilitating addiction and a crippling amount of religious fervor."

"I don't know about the _fervor_, but I've become pretty attached to this cheese that some prince in Antiva sent me a few weeks ago. I can't promise that I won't turn ugly once _that_ runs out," he looked up, and his forehead bore markings transferred from his stained fingertips.

"Have you even _tried_ to follow my advice?" Anders felt a funny drop in his stomach, the same drop that happened every time it was _wedding on_, but he was compelled by his nature to sell this the best he could. "And if not my advice, how hard can it be? Do...things not _work_ or something?"

"Maker help me," Alistair buried his face into the pile of papers in front of him. "Everything works," this was muffled. "_Too_ well, sometimes."

Anders laughed, as much at the king's discomfort as what he was saying.

"Again, _this_ is where you're wrong. There is no such thing as _that_ working _too well_," he swung his feet back onto the floor and put his elbows on his knees. "Have you never read a book? Or fantasized about a woman before? Have you ever touched yourself and..."

"_Whoa_," Alistair's head came up and he was so flushed that even his _hair_ seemed more red. "Listen, I've done..._that_. _Plenty of times_."

He drew a deep breath and stood to walk around his desk, perching himself on the corner the way Ron was fond of doing, only _his_ feet touched the wool rug below.

"It's just...I heard things before I met her, things that made me think _Wow, this could actually be awesome!_but then," he couldn't look Anders in the eye. "Then she walked into the Landsmeet chamber and every other man in the room was staring at her right along with me. But the difference between those men and me is that _they_ all know what to do with a woman like her. I don't. I don't know the first _thing_. You say to grab her and just go for it, but I don't want to _be_ another guy who grabbed her and _just went for it_. But I don't know what else to do with a woman like that."

"You keep saying _a_ _woman like that_," Anders frowned. "Like what? Willing to be grabbed?"

"_Yes_. From what I've heard, she's been grabbed a _lot_," Alistair's brow knitted in frustration. "I know you think it's ridiculous, but this is _important_ to me. I want my relationship with my wife to be special. And I don't know what I can offer a woman that takes intimacy so lightly, never mind the _other_ implications."

Anders had kept his face neutral for most of this, the cadence of _he's the king he's the king he's a _templar_ he's the king_ echoing in his head making it slightly easier to control his tongue, which wanted to get him into all sorts of trouble with a lengthy tirade of why _exactly_ Alistair's being a judgmental bastard was the _real_ problem. Instead he cleared his throat, raised an eyebrow, and said:

"So it's not that you're afraid of her, or that you feel inadequate...you don't want to be with her because you don't think she's _special_ enough for you to be with," Anders abandoned tact. "I bet she hasn't picked up on that _at_ _all_."

_I don't need true love or anything, but I don't want to be a _misery _for the rest of my life._

"You're a judgmental bastard," Anders thought about beautiful green eyes, a bright smile and a _tongue_ that had more personality than most _people_ he knew. "Sex isn't _sacred_. Sex is fun and _not_ always meant to be taken seriously. And just because she's not particular about who grabbed her in the past doesn't mean she can't commit herself to one set of hands."

For a few seconds Alistair looked as if Anders had treated him to an open palm across his face. Then he appeared vaguely guilty. Then..._something_.

"You have stupid hair."

"_What?_" _Did he just insult my _hair_?_

Alistair's entire face frowned.

"Your hair...what do you think you are? A _pirate_? And you and I _both_ know that you must use some sort of magic process to keep it so _smooth_."

"Are you talking about that one day?" Anders stood up. "It was _humid_. Everyone's hair does that when it's humid."

Snorting, Alistair also got to his feet.

"Yes, _everyone's_. Face it, _you_ have _secretly_ _floofy_ _hair_."

"Is this because I called you out for being bit of a jackass? Fine. Your hair is also stupid. How much time do you waste every morning getting it to be so painstakingly upright yet tousled in the front?"

"No more than ten minutes. Unless I go to bed with it wet...then it might take fifteen, " one hand went up protectively. "Why?"

"Oh, I'm not going to set it on fire or anything. I'm just going to stand here thinking that you look _ridiculous_. I've seen Orlesian women with more stylistic restraint than you."

"Then can we talk about your _perfect_ scruff?" Alistair ran his fingers over the scraps of beard that darkened just below his lip but nowhere else. "I've traveled with you and have seen you at almost every hour of the day, and yet it is always _that_."

"Maybe it's fake?" The voice startled them both as they whipped around to confront the woman in the doorway. She stepped forward, her green eyes searching Anders' face and he had to fight to keep himself from gathering her up and taking her to the nearest room with even the slightest amount of privacy. "My brother stole hair from our barber once and pasted to his face. Maybe your friend does the same thing? It hardly seems fair to call him out on it."

Alistair smirked slightly.

"Anders, this is Lady Cousland, my betrothed," he gestured towards her but seemed incapable of looking at her for longer than two seconds at a time, almost as if he was terrified that prolonged exposure would blind him or make him a depraved, sex-crazed maniac. "Brandelyn, this is Anders. He's one of our Grey Wardens. And, for _some_ reason, Ron keeps sending him here."

"Anders?" She extended a strong, pale hand and Anders took her fingers in his as gently as he could, trying to be courtly and _not_ like he'd had them in his mouth a little over a month ago. "Excellent name."

"I wish I could say the same for _Brandelyn_," his lips curved up at the corner and he was glad to see her eyes brighten in response to the joke.

"Call me Brand," she withdrew her hand and regarded Alistair for a few minutes. "So are you guys going to keep going on about each other's hair? It sounded like you were having a good time."

Alistair shook his head.

"I have documents to review, and Anders is supposed to be checking references for his Commander," he glared at the mage, although he seemed to be more nervous than angry. "We should probably get back to business."

"Then I'll excuse myself," she bit her lip as if to hold back words that wanted to fall out of her mouth but shouldn't. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ser mage."

She left and Anders stared after her.

"Yes, I can see why the thought of touching _her_ makes you ill."

"_Floofy_."

Anders stalked out at that and was more than happy to be pulled into a small storage closet halfway between Alistair's office and the library, his mouth finding hers in the darkness and his fingers curling into the cool hair at the base of her neck.

"Hey, Anders?" He loved the way she said his name, even only having heard her say it twice. "Have you ever noticed that Alistair's hair looks sort of like a crown on its own?"

He smiled against her lips and then _laughed_ a few minutes later when she paused her progress down his stomach just long enough to amend her previous observation:

"Actually, it looks more like a _tiara_. With some wilty bits."

_Not special enough_his floofy-haired ass.


	5. Defining

**Note from SurelyForth: **BSN prompt fill time! This is from ages ago. Sabreene gave the prompt "escape" and this is what I came up with. If you can't see the connection, don't feel bad. I'm pretty certain there is none.

* * *

"Telekinetic _pan_ties?" Even at a whisper, she managed to convey the entirety of her amused disbelief.

"Yes," his eyes traveled deliberately down her face to the low cut bodice of her gown. "I can't say I'm not pleased with the results."

The kiss tackle into an empty sitting room had been unexpected, but he was very much enjoying being stretched beneath her on the floor as she held his wrists pinned above his head.

"Results? Was this an experiment?" Her eyebrow went up.

"Well, the public part of it was," he grinned rakishly. "I've pulled it off alone before, but never in a room full of people. I half expected to see beardo's wife blush."

"I'm pretty sure Isolde is dead from the neck down, but it _would_ have been amusing."

"_Neck_ down? That's being generous," he pushed his hips up ever so slightly and was rewarded with an unsubtle tightening of her thighs at his waist. "And I still think you got off too easy. I was trapped in that infirmary for fifteen minutes after you left, Alistair and his guard talking about sword fighting like I even care, meanwhile I could have caused some serious damage if anyone would have came too close or, Maker forbid, looked _down_."

"Heh. 'How _did_ you come to lose your eye, Your Majesty?'" Brand squinted one eye. "'You _really_ don't want to know…can we just focus on how awesome I look in an _eye-patch_? Better than a silly crown, by far!'" Anders had to admit that she had a pretty decent Alistair voice, but still.

"And how weird would he think _I_ was, standing there in _that_ state in the company of a couple of men? Although...it _would_ go a long way towards justifying why I'm always around."

"Now you know not to ask me to demonstrate how functional my hand is," her eyes glinted with bottomless amounts of mischief as she lowered her mouth to brush against his jaw, her hair soft against his throat, and he paused to enjoy the way such gentle contact could turn his blood to flame.

"No, I just know not to ask you that in _public_," Anders shifted again. He was torn between the desire to push past this gentle interlude to something that better matched his sudden fever, and the a surge of altogether unexpected curiosity. "Why were you and Alistair sparring in the first place?"

She'd started biting along his neck, her hands relinquishing his wrists to slide down his arms as she did so, taking her time to contemplate his question.

"We were at breakfast and being our normal stone cold selves when I mentioned that I was going to start training again. It was probably the first thing I've said that didn't freak him right out," she sat upright and shrugged. "So we decided to spar."

"Do you feel closer than ever to your betrothed?" With his hands free, he was able to run them along her thighs, enjoying the way the she shivered at his touch.

"_Obviously_, "she laughed at that. "We might have actually had a bonding moment, if he hadn't, you know, _slashed my arm wide open_. Now he's terrified of me _and_ he's caused me grievous injury. Eye contact will not be happening for _at least_ two years."

Her voice was light, but there was an unmistakable twinge of _I am so screwed_ that came through whenever she spoke of her future with Alistair. She didn't want it. _He_ didn't want it. Only Eamon wanted it.

"Why did you agree in the first place?" Anders realized with a small start that he was trading fun time in his attempt to…get to know her? He didn't really know her _at all_, to be honest, besides what she could to him with her body and her smile. "Did you commit a crime and the sentence is queendom? Are you being blackmailed? Are you secretly in love with Captain Face Blanket and being queen means you get to spend oodles of time with him?"

"No," Brand spoke softly, and sadness echoed in that single syllable. Her expression had turned melancholy as her fingers curled thoughtfully into his robes, gathering the fabric at his stomach. "I don't want to talk about this, Anders. Not with you."

And what had been mindless fun, sex and flirting and dangerous games wherein they bumped against being discovered but always managed to escape notice, became very not mindless.

"I understand completely," he began to work his way up her skirt, determined to ignore the way a part of him was unspooling. She'd spoken candidly to him their second night together, opening up with little prompting. What was different now? And how _was_ it possible that she was astride him, more than willing to do _anything_ to him that he could dream up, and that _not with you_ was maddeningly distracting. "I'm just here to please. And to be pleased, of course."

"Dammit, Anders," she let go of his robes, and he abandoned his exploration, his palms remaining in contact with her thighs because he was holding out hope that this would pass in seconds and they could return to sex and flirting and not the corners of her mouth turning down. _You only have yourself to blame._ "If I start talking about it, I'll cry and that's just not how I want this to go."

"I didn't realize that this was something that _went_," Anders was entering a place he'd been before, where his mouth ruined good things. But normally he was being too flip and _now_ he was being too damn serious. "I'm a final, if protracted, fling."

"I..." she looked to the side, her already flushed cheeks deepening to crimson, and he studied her chin, how it jutted stubbornly, and the long slope of her nose. "Alistair told me how you became a Warden, how you escaped from the Circle of Magi and Ron conscripted you. It made sense. When I saw you in the tavern, I could tell you were someone who understands and appreciates what it means to be free. Alistair said you escaped several times?"

Anders nodded and then propped himself on his elbows. The wool carpet might have been scratchy against his skin, but he was paying more attention to the distance in her eyes as she turned back to him.

"I was never very good at evading the templars," he scowled. "Never minding their rather unfair advantage.

"So you probably know about that feeling when you've made it out and you're pretty sure that it's not going to last, so you appreciate it that much more? Everything is slightly brighter, food tastes better, and sleep is more restful?"

He was quite familiar with that feeling, and how it made him he pay that much more attention to _everything,_ from how the air felt against his skin to the sweet bloom of that first sip of ale as it passed along his tongue, everything felt and noticed and _enjoyed_ so that he'd have that much more to take back with him if when reality finally made its catch and those tiny, exaggerated moments would be what kept him from giving into complacency, from losing himself completely.

"_That's_ what you are to me," she bowed her head down and when her lips pressed his he saw the sun coming up over Lake Calenhad, the thin edge of fire unfurling across the water's surface as he watched it from Bann Ferrenly's gate house, the lord away at the Landsmeet and the chamberlain had already sent a messenger to the Chantry. He wasn't one for nature, but the only time he saw sunrises these days was through the warped windows in the tower and even _he_ had to admit that there was something amazing about watching the world come to life in front of him.

He sat up completely, and his hands ran up her back to pull her closer.

"I was alone for awhile, Anders, and I made mistakes. Some of them are unforgiveable. When Fergus approached me about marrying Alistair, I felt obligated to agree. It's the sort of thing I should have done in the first place, instead of…" her mouth had moved close to his ear and she whispered her confession, the intimacy of it unexpected. "I'd hoped, of course, but things went so wrong so quickly, and then I met you and…"

"Mistakes on top of mistakes."

"Piles of mistakes _everywhere_, and I _know_ it. And I don't care," she positioned herself so they were eye to eye, their noses almost touching. "A fling is something that has an end point, something disposable. I can't have you, anything we do beyond _man and wife_ is more dangerous than dangerous, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let you go."

"I should tell you to let me go," he cradled her chin, the pad of his thumb brushing across her lips, and there was no mistaking the emotion that spilled warmly from his chest to his stomach when her mouth curved up at the corners. "But I am in _love_ with the idea of being so unforgettable."

"I thought you would be," her fingers pushed through his hair, nails dragging lightly along his scalp, and if there was any part of him that had been hesitant before, it was all on board now. "Of course, _you're_ the one who said _unforgettable_..."

"Is that a _challenge_?" It was his turn to tackle her back onto the floor and there was nothing he wanted to forget about the way she looked beneath him, her dark hair fanned around her smiling face and her eyes luminous as he did his best to make the leap from _memorable_ to _unforgettable_, or to at least live up to _that's what you are to me_ because, from where he stood, there wasn't anything better than _that_.


End file.
